


Mysterious and Spooky

by DumpsterCrumpster



Category: South Park
Genre: Addams Family AU, M/M, in which Craig's family is the Addams family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 00:05:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterCrumpster/pseuds/DumpsterCrumpster
Summary: The Tucker family has just moved into South Park, and Kenny just can't seem to get them out of his head. Especially their son. Craig doesn't understand why the neighborhood Boy in Orange keeps coming around his house.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny POV.

The way it starts out is normal enough. A quiet little mountain town in a forever snowy part of Colorado is getting a few new additions before the school year starts. A moving van is pulled up to the quieter edge of town and a blue Caldwell Banker sign is finally removed from the front yard. Whoever decided to move into the house more than likely didn't know about the woman who lived in it prior, and if they did, the sign would have stuck to the ground until it rotted away and snapped in half. 

Even so, a permanently skinny blonde named Kenny McCormick watched from a safe distance as the moving van backed into the cracked driveway, accompanied by three friends, all of them mindlessly babbling to the other about how they hope it's a pretty new girl moving in, or at least not some grumpy old geezers. Although Kenny didn't openly agree, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind it if a pretty face showed up instead of an old grandma or something. 

At least, that's what he thought before he saw the ghostly faces of the family who stepped out of the moving van.

Honestly, they would have looked impossibly normal if they didn't have such dark bags under their pitch black eyes. It might have even been passable in the parents faces, a clear sign of stress from raising a young adolescent. But once the freckled blonde noticed the bluish black circles also underneath the eyes of their daughter, a girl with strawberry blonde hair tied into two low braids, he scoffed and decided that all of them were just naturally ghastly. 

The presumed mother is almost too tall to be human, platinum blonde hair and flower stem frame a stark contrast to her husbands red hair and broad shoulders. Kenny sighs to himself at the sight of them, resting his cheek on the handlebars of a rusting Walmart bike. He supposes one would have to be strong in the upper body to carry around such a thick looking gut. Their daughter is young, probably around Kennys own sisters age, despite the visible purple rings under her blank eyes. She resembles both of her parents almost perfectly when standing next to them, her mothers nose, fathers hair, mothers light walk, fathers commanding glare. Kenny chuckles a little bit at the image, keeping the sound muffled from behind his fully zipped orange parka. The blonde is so entertained by the girls carbon copy parts that he didn't notice the shadowy figure looming over her until it grabs at her shoulder, and he jumps lamely. It's just the hand of another child. 

Kenny huffs an agitated breath up towards him is shaggy blonde bangs, getting a better look at this new resident. This child looks to be around his own age, but seems to have been the product of an unspoken infidelity. That or maybe a stepson? Adopted? No, that's impossible. He has his mothers framework, thin, unnaturally tall, and petal soft looking skin, but with hair so black that it almost made the natural light around him grow dark. He has the same black eyes and dark circles as the rest of his family though, and Kenny knows that such a clear sign of permanent exhaustion shouldn't be making his heart race in his chest. 

Oh no. He's cute. 

Cerulean eyes watch as the black haired boy leans down and whispers something into his sisters(?) ear and sees her empty looking eyes snap up at attention. She's looking right at Kenny and his little group of friends, a look of disgust on her face that could make any mortal man feel like less than dirt. Blonde hair at the nape of Kenny's neck stands at attention, a sharp breath getting stuck in his windpipe under such a scrutinizing stare. The group of three that had dragged Kenny out to people watch were already muttering swears under their breath, trying to appear unaffected by the stare of an eight year old.

It didn't work; their hands were clearly shaking as they turned their bikes to ride down the street. Kenny swallowed the lump in his throat as he sat himself up, not before stealing another look at the now smirking redhead. What a brat. Her brother looked to be smirking too, but just barely, with eyes locked onto Kenny. 

There is a familiar shiver going down the blondes prominent spine as he turns to pedal away as fast as his bike will carry him. 

He is going to be back soon. He has too, for whatever reason.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig POV.

The visits go on for about a week or two after that. Craig tries to ignore the obvious attempts at being sneaky, but come on. Who watches people from behind bushes wearing full body orange? The permanently tired young man wonders why these visits are still happening after so long, but narrows it down to morbid curiosity. Craig and the rest of the Tucker family did just move into the house of a convicted murderer. He sighs and thinks of his Aunt Kat, locked up behind bars and just as quietly terrifying as before. Maybe he would visit her, if the urge ever became too overwhelming. 

Suddenly a loud snap and a swear come from outside, drawing blank eyes to a frosty attic window. The Boy in Orange seems to have tried venturing closer, out from behind the bushes only to be snagged mercilessly by the twisting, thorny branches. Watching for a while, bemused by the frantic twisting and struggling of the gangly intruder, Craig whispers under his breath and gingerly touches a potted plant of the same variety on his work desk. It's a simple gesture, really. Anything to get this boy away from the Tucker families gripping bushes. The dark green ivy is territorial, and won't loosen their grip on anyone or anything that has broken its branches until one of Craig's family members calms it down. Soon enough, the thick shrubbery releases the Boy with a loud thump, the blonde immediately tripping and planting his face in the fresh morning snow. Craig almost chuckles to himself, watching the Boy in Orange stand and brush himself off. What a clumsy oaf. Craig continues to stare though, even after the two of them have made clear eye contact. Something stirs itself inside of Craig, something warm and gooey and he definitely didn't like it. It made his stomach feel weak and sick. 

Without warning, Craig's sharp jaw drops open, a powerful stream of black goop flowing past pale lips and splattering onto his window. Black eyes can't see the Boy in Orange anymore, not past the splattered mess left on the glass, but anyone in his home would be able hear a distinct, and quite unbecoming swear word. Craig assumes that the Boy is running scared by now. 

Craig wipes at the corners of his mouth, turning his sleeve over to look at the sticky black gunk that his body had just purged itself of. It wasn't anything the black haired teen had seen come out of himself before, not resembling blood, not regular vomit, not even the occasional cluster of spiders that crawl their way out of his esophagus from time to time. There's a knock at the young mans door, and he didn't need to look over to know that it was his mother. Her footsteps were unheard and gracefully bypassing the trip wires Craig had carefully set up to behead any unwanted guests. He would need to work on a new pattern; this one was the one from his old room, which she already knew how to get through easily. 

Standing over her son and placing a hand on his shoulder, Craig's mother places a cold kiss to the crown of his head before looking at the mess splattered on the once see through glass.

"What's this all over your window, my little ghoul?" 

Craig shrugs and show her the dirtied sleeve, which she takes in her hand and stares at before a look of knowing slowly washes over her face. 

"...Oh. I see. It's nothing that you need to worry about, my little ghoul. Just some stomach trouble that your mothers brews can fix. Come now, away from your window before your father and sister become impatient and start waging war over dinner." 

Craig follows his mother out, black splatters on a window forgotten in favor of bloody venison and mind fogging tea.

Craig returns to his room later on in the night with a mixture of something sweet and bubbling his beloved mother had prescribed in his favorite flask, an older one once used for atropine sulfate. Craig looks to his window and sighs. 

It's as clean as it was before he had spewed vomited all over it. Blacked out eyes look down at his sleeve and see that the gunk there had also vanished on its own. 

The tall youth narrowly avoids a cleaver that flings itself at his head, a distracted misstep landing right on top a silver tripwire. 

Craig puts himself to sleep immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny POV.

It had been quite some time since Kenny tried visiting the mysterious new family in town. 'Visiting' may not have been the most appropriate word, but that's what he had been calling it so far. Maybe it just helps him sleep better at night instead of calling it what it was. 

Trespassing? Spying? Stalking? 

He shakes his head violently at the last one, frowning as he rereads the same line from a nudie magazine he's had since grade eight. These desperate attempts at distracting himself weren't working, and he's known that ever since he cleaned, reorganized, and cleaned his room all over again. That was hours ago, and the day wasn't even close to being over. 

Grumbling and tossing the magazine back to the ground, Kenny rolls onto his back and tucks freckled arms behind his head. His mind goes back to the new family on the block immediately and he sighs. There's no use in trying to stop it now, and he replays the few scenes of them in his head. 

A majority of memories may or may not all revolve around their son, but whatever. Kenny had seen other things from behind those bushes (and what was the deal with those things; it was like they moved and shifted around on their own!), like the mother and father sword fighting together through the bay window, the daughter reenacting what looked to be a very elaborate beheading of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette in the garage. The memory makes his hand touch the back of his neck of its own accord, the feeling of loosing his own head brought back with the sight of a teddy bear being sentenced to death. It would've made Kenny laugh if it wasn't so creepy.

Creepy was the best word to describe this new family. The way they dressed, all black always in black, the way they all seemed to skulk around in their own house, the way that their black hair was somehow so much darker than his looming shadow, the way his eyes would catch you staring at him through his window and stare back completely blank, sometimes for minutes at a time--

Kenny shakes his head violently, smacking at his freckled cheeks to regain a little bit of composure. They're hot, and he should really know better, god dammit. 

Was watching the guy vomit up black gunk when he saw him not enough of a deterrent? A little shiver runs through his bones thinking about it, imagining the taste and feeling of tar coming back out of a mouth. Disgusting. And unnatural. This boy was unnatural, unreal, and probably belonged to a family of serial killers. Serial killers who grew roses in their yard for the purpose of cutting the flowers themselves off and making crowns of thorns for their spouses. What a fucking creepy husband to have. 

A somewhat bitter chuckle escapes the blondes throat. As if he had room to talk about weird. 

Sighing and sitting up, Kenny pulls tattered boots on over sockless feet, tapping them into place before he steps out of his room, front door, front yard. God, why was he doing this again? Most definitely not a stalker. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig POV.

"Mom, that boy is back again." 

Craig's focus is drawn away from the heavy book he had been reading in the living room, black eyes still unmoving. His mother lightly chuckles, and Craig can just picture the look of morbid curiosity on her face.

"Oh, you're right, he is. I haven't seen him for quite some time. Where do you think he'll try and hide this time? The bushes are still wary of him." 

Craig's undivided focus goes back to his book for all of two lines before he hears a soft gasp. 

"He's not coming inside this time, is he?" 

That makes black eyes look up over the edge of an ancient book. 

"He is! The stalker is coming up the walkway!" 

Immediately Craig is on his feet, walking briskly (not running never running) towards the closet underneath the stairs. The pale young man doesn't know what's come over him entirely, but he knows that he can't allow Boy in Orange to go one step further without--

"Craig! He's going to step on your trip wire! Come see, before you miss it!" 

Nonononono. Opening the door under the stairs, dark eyes find the only string amongst possible hundreds that is so much at twitching. Without a second thought, Craig snaps the string between jagged teeth, Ruby's sigh of disappointment a sign that a trap didn't go off as planned. 

"FUCK!" 

That wasn't Ruby. That was Boy in Orange screaming from the front yard. Slim legs make their way to the bay window in the living room to see the Boy, paralyzed on the pavement outside, a look of horror on his face. Another step and he would have become a victim to a trap door and fallen straight into The Pit. The knives that were suspended in the dying trees outside fell from their hiding places, landing with hollow thumps and sticking out of the ground almost comically. The ebony haired teen huffs out a laugh at the scene, despite himself. 

"Craig," his mother calls in a song-song voice, "sweet little ghoul, could you go outside and scrape that boy up off of the ground? The poor dear looks like he could faint any moment." 

Ruby pokes her finger against the glass, right on top of her view of the Boy in Orange. "Mom, he looks scared and sick. Look at him, he's shaking."

"It is freezing out," you hear. 

Craig doesn't respond to his mothers request; he's never had too. Anything she asks of him, Craig would just do, no questions asked. Even if that thing is to go talk to a boy that has been watching him from his window for weeks...or had been, as it were. Craig feels his stomach lightly rumbling with the same soft feelings as before and he take a heavy swallow from the flask his mother had given him. It had been a while, but Craig would still drink his medicine every day, just in case. 

Opening up the front door slowly and feeling the chilling mountain air hit his colorless skin helps Craig just the slightest bit more. Craig hadn't realized how warm his house was until now. Slowly looking up the walkway, the blob of orange was still laying in the same place, but looking just a bit less shaken. That was good. Making his way silently up to the Boy, Craig ignored the odd trembling in his hands and knees as best as he could. It really was freezing outside. 

"Hey," Craig says quietly, noticing the way the Boys shoulders jump up when he speaks. Big feet clad in black loafers hadn't made any sounds doing down the walkway, so Craig supposes the sudden greeting wasn't very good for a person so visibly shaken. He stores that knowledge in his mind for later. 

For now, the Boy in Orange looks significantly worse now that Craig is standing over him. Ruby was right; he looked awfully sick. His shaking had gotten much worse, any color in his face completely drained. Craig cocks his head to the side and stares for a while longer, taking a step forward. Not that it mattered. The step he took was met with a scared shuffle backwards, more space between the two of them. 

Oh. Boy in Orange was scared of Craig. 

The blackette tries to hide how offended he is, but based on the way the boys eyes widen even more, he didn't do a very good job. 

"Look, I--"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!" Craig watches as the Boy in Orange scrambles up onto his feet, arms very clearly blocking his face, as if he was prepared to be struck. Craig continues to quietly watch him as he runs away, back down the walkway and past your field of vision. 

Now it's just Craig left out in the cold and he sighs, a cloud of heated breath evaporating in the atmosphere. 

'How creepy,' is Craig's only thought. 

Turning back to his home, Craig looks at the mess his trap has left in its wake. He sighs again and crouches by the trick door, lifting the block of cement that had given way and locking it into place by its latch. These knives aren't going to dislodge themselves. 

"Craig, are these the good kitchen knives?" 

That was Craig's mother this time, and a completely different feeling formed in his guts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny POV.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' Kenny thinks to himself as he runs, ignoring how his weak lungs beg for oxygen and his legs begin to burn. What had he been thinking, just walking right up to the house like that!? Kenny should have called a SWAT team or the national guard to warn them of his idiocy first! Who just randomly decides to walk right up to the creepy house on the block with the equally creepy family inside!? 

And was that a trap door?!? Did knives just fucking fall from the sky out of nowhere? He could have died! Again! The blonde continues to run until he almost trips over himself, finally stopping to take a break at the local playground. It's empty, like it always is during the start of fall, and he throws himself on the slide that is far too small for his growing body. Kenny lays there breathing, trying to calm his heartbeat down, clutching tightly at his booming chest. 

Swallowing dryly and looking up at the sky, Kenny feels his heartbeat still radiating down to his cold toes. Shutting his eyes tightly, Kenny is met with the memory of the boy who had been standing over him. He curls his toes remembering the pitch blackness of the boys eyes, the soft sound of his voice that Kenny ran scared from. From his place on the floor, the gray skies had cast a shadow of darkness over his face, making that look he gave the blonde all the more intense. The heart that he had worked so hard to calm was on the uptick again and he screws thick eyebrows together in frustration. The second Kenny had seen his face up close, he panicked, and ever so smoothly ran off with his tail between his legs. 

Black eyes flash in Kennys mind again and he groans, covering up his face in his arms. Seeing the boy up close had drained all of the blood from his freckled face, and hearing his voice made it all rush back to his cheeks in a few brief seconds. Kenny remembers feeling lightheaded as he desperately covered his face with his arms, wishing that there was several feet between the two of them, and a foggy attic window. 

And then the stream of apologies that came out of his mouth as soon as the blonde was back on his feet. 

"...Smooth, Kenny. Really fuckin' cool," he grumbled, digging into a tattered pocket for a crushed carton of smokes and dented lighter. Smoking wouldn't make him forget the embarrassing way he behaved, but it would at least...do something. Unlike Kenny himself. 

Kenny lights his smoke, inhaling the tar flavor and blowing out with another sigh. He won't be going back to that house, he decides. He could spare himself some embarrassment if he just avoided it, right?

Probably right.


End file.
